Foreigners

Foreigners

  By Leenna Naidoo

  With artwork

  by Leenna Naidoo

  Copyright 2015 Leenna Naidoo

  Published by Learning To Surf Publishing

  Contents

  The Temple Of Heavenly Falsities

  We went as far as the car would take us. It had been a hot, drowsy drive. I stretched, then stared up at the vertical cliff-face which housed the temple. To our left, a thin stream of spray gave away the waterfall pummeling at the sandstone crack.

  “Can you see the stairs?” asked Alan as the taxi hastily pulled away.

  “Too late to ask the driver,” I sighed.

  Wasn't this always the case? Ill thought-out not-quite-spontaneous trip to go find some fabled temple. It had taken long enough to find a taxi-driver who understood our poor Chinese and who could read PinYin.

  Strive

  The plane banks over the Bluff then, with its landing gear out, bypasses the city and Umhlanga. Mount Moreland sugar-cane fields, a pale reminder of their past, flash by. A small bump, and they are cruising towards the new terminal--King Shaka Airport. He's last off the plane, uncertain of what to expect. He's been away for so long; had alienated himself from his friends and family--glad to have escaped the only town in the world whose main street ends in a river...

  Coming Soon and Other Titles

  We went as far as the car would take us. It had been a hot, drowsy drive. I stretched, then stared up at the vertical cliff-face which housed the temple. To our left, a thin stream of spray gave away the waterfall pummeling at the sandstone crack.

  “Can you see the stairs?” asked Alan as the taxi hastily pulled away.

  “Too late to ask the driver,” I sighed.

  Wasn't this always the case? Ill thought-out not-quite-spontaneous trip to go find some fabled temple. It had taken long enough to find a taxi-driver who understood our poor Chinese and who could read PinYin. It had taken even longer to find one who would bring us to The Temple of Heavenly Falsities. Why Alan would want to see such a temple, the gods alone knew. I, on the other hand, knew better than to argue with him when he got into such moods. So here we were: intrepid explorers of the rural Chinese desert and connoisseurs of almost deserted temples.

  “It's probably like The Hanging Gardens Temple. People must get up there someway,” said Alan, hand to his eyes searching for an access.

  “Must they?” I knew there would be some impossibly steep worn stone staircase to ascend; and I really didn't want to. It was already stinging hot even with the chill breeze.

  “Look, Sharon! There it is!” enthused Alan, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Let's go find the caretaker.”

  “Oh, joy!” I muttered into the breeze, choked on some desert dust, then followed my onerously intrepid man up one thousand and eighty-eight and a half steps.

  I bent over gasping for air beneath the overhang creating a natural cavern which marked the entrance of The Temple of Heavenly Falsities. Above, stretching for what would definitely be more than one thousand and eighty-eight and a half steps, the cliff towered towards the heavens turning sepia.

  “Alan!” I gasped, “There's a sandstorm coming!”

  “Don't be ridiculous, Sharon. It's not the time of year. We've had wonderful rains.”

  “Six weeks ago!”

  “Don't be such an alarmist. I wonder where the caretaker is.” And Alan disappeared into the cold depths of The Temple of Heavenly Falsities.

  I took one lingering look at the lone bus, trundling like a beetle far below, before I sighed, choked on some desert dust and followed my intrepid man into falsity.

  Up seemed down and down seemed up. Light was comfortable while the darkness dazzled my eyes.

  “Wha..?” I began, stumbling on a minor outer galaxy.

  “It's mind-bogglingly awesome! Words fail!” stated Alan, reverently squatting at the edge of the known universe.

  Gingerly I hopped across the swirling Milky Way, resisted the pull of a black-hole, then accidentally kicked some asteroids into new trajectories, before eventually perching precariously on the edge of the known universe with my man.

  “It's beautiful,” I breathed, eyes straining as wide open as I could to take in the impenetrable dark of nothingness. I stood blinded by the utter beauty of the infinite and total potential of everything.

  “Oh, there he is!” Alan had turned back to look at all of creation.

  I almost stumbled into oblivion in shock. Hopping nimbly across the universe despite emphatic, angry gesticulations and flying robes, the caretaker of the Temple of Heavenly Falsities advanced towards us.

  “He looks a little angry, don't you think?” murmured Alan, unperturbed. I knew he just saw it as a good opportunity to practice his Chinese. “Never mind. I'm sure he'll be really happy to show us around.”

  I wasn't so sure. The caretaker's expression boded otherwise.

  I clung to Alan's arm, flinching at the torrent of angry Chinese, as the caretaker reached us. I hated when this happened as it almost inevitably did.

  Alan remained unfazed. Using his free hand to gesture grandly at all that lay beyond us--the great nothingness, Alan simply said reverently, “Shway.”

  I looked at him in surprise. Why had he called the Infinite handsome? Had Alan forgotten the word for beautiful again? Nevertheless he had gotten the caretaker's attention. The caretaker's mouth had clamped shut. His eyes widened, then crinkled as his mouth stretched into a broken-toothed grin.

  “Aah! Shui! Shui! Hou! Hou!” He nodded emphasis, looking pleased. A wave of his grey robed arm indicated we should follow.

  “See!” said Alan all smug, turning to follow our new guide.

  Bewildered, I clung to my man's shirttail as we hopped across the galaxies back to terra firma--the worn stone of The Temple of Heavenly Falsities floor.

  “Ah! Shui, shui!” nodded the caretaker enthusiastically through fabulous galleries of molecules, atoms and a sea of neutrinos. And then we were at the waterfall.

  It was huge. Gigantic. Bigger than the biggest waterfall you'd ever seen! I frowned. How could a waterfall be bigger than Niagara Falls and not drown out the road we had driven to get here?

  But the caretaker gave us no time to think. “Shui!” he declared in delight, then indicated we should drink.

  Alan had gotten his intonation wrong! He had said 'water', not 'handsome', again! He took it in his stride and nodded.

  “Alan, I don't think--.” I began, but Alan had already leaned out across the thundering chasm to drink from the falls.

  He stepped back ecstatic, mouth and chin glistening from the liquid, face blissful. “It's...it's...Words fail!”

  “Shui! Shui!” went the caretaker, pushing me forward.

  I felt the spray engulf me, moisture seeping into my tightly closed mouth while in my ears the sound of the thundering universe, like some subliminal bass drum, drowned out everything till there was nothing.

  ***

  “Quick! Can you see the stairs?” Alan was almost frantic. “They must be somewhere!” He sounded like he was underwater.

  I licked the water droplets off my lips, then stared up in bright daylight at the towering cliff housing The Temple of Heavenly Falsities.

  “Alan?” My voice was faint.

  “It was over there, wasn't it?” Alan tried to rush off past me on the right.

  “Alan, what...?” I turned around at the opening of the car door.

  Our taxi-driver was advancing, waving his arms in agitation, going: “Bu shi! Bu shi! Kuai! Kuai!” He ran after Alan, overtook him and blocked his path. “Bu shi! (No!) Kuai! Kuai! (Quick! Quick!)” and he pointed towards the wall of dust rolling crazily towards us.

  “Alan!' I screamed.
<
br />   My intrepid man shook off the taxi-driver. He turned to hurry me into the car. Our taxi-driver was only a second or two behind. We slammed the car doors and took off with a squeal of tires in an effort to outrun the wall of dust.

  I got a brief glance of the waterfall. It ran down a deep chink in the cliff, just a thin line of frothy white. “Alan?”

  He looked at me then said in his inimitable way, “I guess that's why they call it The Temple of Heavenly Falsities, eh?”

  I looked through the back window of the car and saw the beautiful nothingness once more. I blinked. And it was replaced by a wall of desert sand. I sighed, then choked on some desert dust.

  ###

  This story first appeared on Leenna's website: www.leennanaidoo.wordpress.com

  The plane banks over the Bluff then, with its landing gear out, bypasses the city and Umhlanga. Mount Moreland sugar-cane fields, a pale reminder of their past, flash by. A small bump, and they are cruising towards the new terminal--King Shaka Airport. He's last off the plane, uncertain of what to expect. He's been away for so long; had alienated himself from his friends and family--glad to have escaped the only town in the world whose main street ends in a river...

  Waiting for luggage, he watches the other passengers. Most are craning their necks, searching for families and friends or meet-and-greets. He doesn't bother. There'll be no-one to meet him. He hasn't told anyone he's coming home. He expects no welcome.

  He grabs his suitcase, a Samsonite. It bumps against another. He murmurs an apology. The guy frowns, half-smiling. It's Melvin, the class clown--grey now, with a lined worried face and two kids pulling at his pants.

  “Daddy! Mummy's waiting!”

  He knows Melvin doesn't recognise him in his expensive clothes, broader build and platinum-framed glasses. He's changed too much. He rolls his bag and walks away.

  He takes his rental car, an Audi, up the old beach road to Umdhloti. He smiles ruefully. If he'd told his parents and teachers years ago that he would be renting an apartment on the beach, they'd have laughed at him.

  “My boy, you must accept your place in this world,” one teacher--Mr Munilall, had told him. It wasn't right upsetting the balance; a nobody from a dirt-poor family getting the highest marks in the year...

  Maybe he should look up the old man and say, “Look sir; look how wrong you were.”

  Only old BJ, that gentle wise headmaster, had believed in him and nurtured him. Now it was time to pay back that kind, spiritual soul.

  He glances possessively at his laptop case. They would have to look really hard to find him here. He'd never told them his true roots, building up a life he'd have rather have had. They didn't even know his true country of origin. Everyone thought he was British or Canadian.

  The apartment is nice enough; your typical beach pad. The balcony overlooks the tidal pool. Some dolphins frisk in the winter sunset. It's been a long stressful trip. He decides to call it a night.

  ***

  Come breakfast, he looks for the Blue Lizard. It's morphed into an upmarket deli-eatery. Over a hearty breakfast next to the large windows, he watches the waves break on shore.

  Fortified, he begins the task of organising all the equipment he needs. First stop, his old hometown--Verulam.

  He gets stuck in traffic just past Lotusville. Traffic! In Verulam! Not so different from Glasgow... Over on his right, the old Temple Valley landmark has been renovated. His grandmother lives nearby. He really should go see her, but what would he say, “Hello, Avar. I'm sorry I wasn't here when dad died.”

  He turns right onto Wick Street; goes past the old Town Board. It's a police station now. He doesn't recognise most of the shops. He drives around the block, past the Court House and onto the little back street where the old market used to be. He parks near the 'new' library. It hasn't changed much except for a security gate at the entrance. He'll walk to the computer stores and get the feel of the town again.

  ***

  He can't resist going to Mountview and having a look at the old neighbourhood. It's strange. So much and so little has changed. Some flats look exactly as he'd remembered them with their breeze-blocks and red roofs. The houses have changed more; most with a roadside garage, some with huge extensions.

  Her house hasn't changed at all, still sitting plain and neat amidst the rest--so very much like her. On impulse, he parks the car and goes down. A dog barks a warning. He hesitates, his foot on the last steep stair.

  He should go back, but the door is opening. A girl stares at him, fierce-looking. He doesn't know her.

  “What you want?”

  “Does Aunty Premmi still live here?” He's surprised at how foreign his accent sounds after hers.

  “Who are you?”

  He hesitates again. He hasn't used his name in years. “I'm Trishnen, Prishni's son.”

  She looks him over, taking in everything. He shifts uncomfortably.

  “Aunty Prishni's son is dead.”

  “Well, here I am.” His voice is dry. He recognises her now; the spoilt baby-girl who had never stopped crying--his cousin. He's forgotten her name.

  There's shuffling behind her. “Who's it, Krishni? Is Devan here?”

  “No, ma. It's some man who says he's Aunty Prishni's son.”

  The door swings fully open.

  “Trish! Is that you?” She runs out in her housecoat and slippers.

  He's moved to hold her hand before he knows it. “Aunty Premmi!”

  They are both crying now, holding each other. She's holding his face tenderly, peering through her cataract covered eyes. “Trish, lovey, where have you been. We've all been so worried about you!”

  ***

  He stares at the muted sea, visible only as white-topped waves and spray in the night. His feelings are tumultous. He hadn't expected to be so overcome by emotions--to still feel for people who should have been strangers after twenty years but weren't. Aunty had refused to let him go until he'd eaten both lunch and supper with them.

  The word had spread quickly--Trishnen had miraculously returned. An impromptu family reunion blossomed, with cousins and a few old friends; some of them looking enviously at him. All had wanted to know where he had been? What had he been doing? Why hadn't he called them...? His grandmother had held his hand, rocking happily next to him. He tried to answer them all, sticking to the truth best he could.

  His mother had cried down the phone, frantic that he would disappear again before she could fly down from Joburg; even as his brother Jaylen had been trying unsuccessfully to get her a flight that night. He'd promised her that he'd meet her at the airport the next morning. Jaylen had seemed happy, but wary--he had taken responsibility for their mother after their father had died; moving her to Joburg once her diabetes had worsened. Trishnen was surprised to learn he had two nephews and a niece. Should he buy them gifts?

  Sighing, he draws the curtains. There's work still to do--the most important job he's ever done. He has to change the world. But he can't break his mother's heart again.

  He keeps his promise, meeting her at the airport. She hugs him fiercely, unable to speak. He holds her just as hard, surprised at how much he still loves her. She seems to have shrunken with age; her eyes brighter than her sister's--the result of recent eye-surgery. He spends the whole day with her; just the two of them. She wants to know everything. Does she have a daughter-in-law? Grandchildren? How did he live? Where does he live? Why's he looking so tired? Wasn't he eating well? He finds it easy to talk to her as he always had, having been closer to her than to his father.

  It's easy to explain to her he'd been too busy for relationships; that he has a good apartment in Glasgow but hardly uses it; that it had taken him over twenty hours to fly in from Glasgow and he hasn't gotten much sleep.

  “You haven't changed a bit,” declares his mother, playfully thumping him, seeing past his age and affluence to her little boy. Maybe she's right; he hasn't changed a bit.

  He'd unpacked his car at the beac
h apartment that morning, leaving all the equipment in the second room. His mother is staying at Aunty Premmi's house. He'd dropped her off, staying just long enough for a cup of tea.

  “Drive carefully, lovey. There are hijackers everywhere! Maybe you should stay the night here.”.

  He declines. Aunty Premmi's house is already crowded and he has work to do. “Next time,” he promises.

  He drives cautiously, well-aware of the dangers. Then again, it's second nature to him now. He has a few minutes of unease when another car joins the road from the Riyadh turn-off, following him to the M4. It turns towards La Mercy, leaving him alone on the dark road to Umdhloti.

  They're waiting for him at the apartment. Two men with guns. He wonders how they've found him so quickly...his first university degree, probably.

  “Where is it?” demands the one with the brutish face. “We don't want to hurt you, but we will if we have to.”

  Trishnen doesn't believe him. Once they have it, they would kill him. He knows what he's up against.

  His move is so sudden, they don't have time to react. He's broken the one's arm and knocked him unconscious. The other finds himself flying into the sliding door. His own gun knocks him out. Trishnen stands breathing heavily, suprised at his success. All those jujitsu classes... What was he going to do with them? He couldn't call the police, not yet. That would prevent him meeting his objective. He binds them with cable ties, making sure they are as uncomfortable as possible, and locks them in the bedroom. He doesn't have any time to lose now that they've found him. He has to finish things before they threaten his family.

  It takes a few hours to get everything running satisfactorily. The server is up by 1am. The satellite links with back-ups follow by 2am. By 2:30am, he's uploading to all the social, scientific and news sites. Three hours later, the university and educational networks are receiving his information. Satisfied, he sleeps. It doesn't matter what happens to him now. He's fulfilled his destiny.

  He wakes around noon. His mother's calling. He can't make out what she's trying to say, his cousin Krishni's excited screams drowning much of it out. Panic and fear grip him. Had they gotten to his family after all? Had he failed?

  “Wait, ma! I'm coming!”

  He reaches Aunty Premmi's house in record time. Racing down the stairs, everything seems normal. He bursts through the door. “Ma! Aunty Premmi!”